


Zelda's Goblin

by seven_of_cups



Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Family Feels, Gen, not romantic - Freeform, sister dynamic, zelda being soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-20
Updated: 2018-12-20
Packaged: 2019-09-23 15:55:17
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,469
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17083301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seven_of_cups/pseuds/seven_of_cups
Summary: Zelda spent a lot of time alone in the Spellman house now that Hilda had found a job at Dr. Cerberus's and Ambrose was off doing Satan knows what for Father Blackwood. So, Salem had no one to bother but her.





	Zelda's Goblin

**Author's Note:**

> I may or may not have based this slightly off my own cat. Bringing out Zelda's soft side is what I live for, so it was an absolute joy to write this. Find me on tumblr at spellman-sisters-mortuary for other smaller works

With Hilda out of the house everyday now, Zelda spent more time alone. She did spend a good amount of time with Ambrose, but not everyday and certainly not for the entire day. Zelda didn’t mind at first. Truly, she enjoyed the quiet time for reflection it offered her. There was always something to do. Sometimes she cleaned or tended to the garden or read...or read. She often found herself in the sitting room with a tumbler of whiskey in the early afternoon and one of her old books she's read a hundred times before. Tipsy before Hilda came home to start on dinner.

Sometimes she would see Salem pad into the doorway and meow. Zelda never looked up from her book. She didn't care much for Salem and that was a truth she didn't bother trying to conceal. He was wild, untamed, and therefore untrustworthy. It wasn't that she was a snob about familiars...though maybe a little bit. It was more about how fiercely protective she was of Sabrina and how very much she wanted her to succeed in this life. And she worried that an undomesticated familiar would be a poor influence on her niece, a voice of impulse and defiance in a life Zelda felt the desperate need to keep in perfect order for her.

Salem meowed at her from the doorway to the sitting room again, and Zelda rolled her eyes and stared purposefully at the book in her hands. He'd been bothering her everyday for the past, oh, she didn't know how long. But long enough for Zelda to become annoyed. She refused, maybe stubbornly, to even acknowledge his existence because that was a step towards accepting his status in Sabrina's life. A silent protest, perhaps.

The meowing stopped in record time, however, and it made her frown. Usually he was at it for much longer than that. She glanced over her yellowing copy of Catch-22 to see him trotting towards her, his tail raised high, exuding an air of curious nonchalance. He stopped at her feet and brushed his body along her stocking clad calves. "Satan, what do you want?" she asked, looking down and watching as he purred and brushed and looked up at her with entirely unreadable eyes. Then he sat at her feet and watched her, his head cocked just slightly. "I know what you're doing, and it's not going to work," she told him, satisfied with her ability to identify a trick when she saw one. Then she turned her attention back to the book she had resting on the arm of the loveseat she was occupying.

Salem meowed, and then she felt the loveseat dip next to her. She glanced over with a sigh, watching as he curled up at her side, purring loudly, his small body warm against her hip. "Nothing you do is going to be good enough for Sabrina," she told him flatly before turning back to her book. That was Zelda's final word on the matter, and Salem didn't protest because he quickly fell asleep next to her. 

He did that every day that week. Zelda never acknowledged him, and she certainly never pet him. He wasn't a pet. He was a familiar, a wild one no less. Who knew what the goblin might have in store for Sabrina. For all Zelda knew, he could have been sent by someone intent on harming Sabrina. Though, she mused, glancing at him from her book, he probably would have hurt her by now if that was his intention. Sensing her gaze, Salem pried his eyes open and turned his head to her, sleep heavy in his expression. "Oh, go back to sleep," she breathed, quickly turning back to her book. "If that's what you so insist on doing here everyday then you might as well do it," she said coldly without looking at him. 

Salem meowed. She ignored him and unfolded her legs. He meowed again. She leaned forward to grab the whiskey she had sitting on the coffee table and took a long drink, wincing as it burned her throat. He meowed. She refolded her legs and ignored him even more pointedly this time. The loveseat dipped next to her, but she didn't look over. Then she felt two small paws on her thigh and a furry head nudging her elbow. She looked over at him, entirely aghast and mildly disgusted, wondering what the hell he was wanting from her. He meowed again, and she sighed, glancing at the ceiling. "Satan help me," she whispered before wrapping her arm around him and dropping him down from the loveseat. "I let you sit with me because you never actually bothered me, goblin. Don't start now," she warned him before reaching forward to down the rest of her drink. He stared up at her from the floor pleadingly and meowed. Then when she was settled again he hopped right back up. He stood next to her and stared. She found it rather unnerving and pressed her lips together, furrowing her brow. "What. What is it?" He meowed, and she stared at him blankly, expectantly as if waiting for him to say something. Which was funny, really, because only the witch that the familiar belongs to can understand what it says. "Dammit, would you lay down already. You're making me uneasy," she breathed, but he just kept staring at her, his head moving between her face and her hand. Over and over again. _Oh_. "You must be joking," Zelda couldn't help but laugh. Salem meowed to let her know that he wasn't, and her smile fell.

She stared at him, her expression troubled. He might not be an actual pet, but that didn't mean he didn't get lonely apparently. She swallowed, tasting whiskey on her tongue. Zelda got lonely as well. Wordlessly, she opened her arm and let it rest again the back cushion of the loveseat. Then, after a moment’s hesitation, she bent her elbow and ran a delicate hand over Salem's head and shoulders. He purred loudly and nuzzled into her. His fur was soft and silky, and even when Salem curled up next to her, his head against her hip, she continued to pet him. He fell asleep like that, her hand playing with his fur absently as she read her book. And they stayed like that all afternoon.

When Hilda got home, and she always did first, Zelda pushed Salem off the loveseat and continue reading as if she’d been ignoring him this entire time. He meowed grumpily at her and stalked out of the room. She didn’t bat an eye. They did that for a few days, and Zelda started not to mind his presence while she read. In fact, his purring was almost...soothing. Then one day she drifted off to sleep in the loveseat. The day had been cold and bleak, and she’d been particularly bored. She was startled awake to Salem climbing around on her chest. He circled once, sniffing her face, before settling down between her chin and chest, curling up around her neck. A small noise of bewilderment escaped her, and Salem responded by licking her cheek with his abrasive tongue. Annoyed, but still groggy, she let him stay. But only barely. And she gave him a glare so he knew his place. He just closed his eyes and purred.

When Hilda came home that evening before Ambrose and Sabrina, Zelda took a sleepy Salem off of her and placed him on the loveseat. He could continue sleeping if he so pleased. She closed her book which she had been trying to read with him perched on her chest and collected her glass of whiskey which hadn’t been touched all day. What a shame. It was the damn goblin’s fault.

“Hello, Zelda,” Hilda drawled, her voice as pleasant and easy as always. “How was your day?”

“Same as always,” she sighed as she grabbed her bottle of whiskey from the kitchen counter and opened it. “Uneventful,” she informed Hilda, glancing at her before pouring her un-drank whiskey back into the bottle. Hilda stared at her in mild shock and confusion.

“U-Uneventful?” Hilda prodded, looking her over. Her brow furrowed. “Zelds, is that cat hair on your dress?” she asked delicately. Zelda felt her stomach drop as she glanced down at herself. Yes, in fact, there was black cat hair on her nice blue dress. Damn him. But she couldn’t bring herself to feel annoyed beyond telling herself that she was annoyed. And the fact she was cognizant of that lack of annoyance was, in truth, annoying.

“Uh, no, probably fibers from the couch. I was cleaning today,” she told her dismissively. “When are Sabrina and Ambrose due home?” she asked instead.

“Oh, um, any minute now. It should be,” Hilda told her distractedly, wondering why Zelda had cat hair all over her dress. Her hatred of Sabrina’s familiar was no secret, and Hilda had half a mind to check if the poor creature was still breathing. Hilda wasn’t sure why Zelda would get close to him if it wasn’t to do grievous bodily harm. When Zelda went upstairs to change, Hilda did just that. And she found him in the sitting room curled up on the loveseat napping. She watched as he lifted his head to look at her, pulled so rudely from sleep. With a blank expression, he meowed, and she frowned. “Well, hello there, darling. Good to see you’re alright. Go back to sleep,” she told him from the doorway, and he lowered his head gently back down to the cushion.

Over the next week or so, Salem started looking to be pet whenever possible by Zelda. Whenever she read, he was there begging for attention. Whenever she was doing chores, he followed her around the house. Then she tripped over his small body trying to fold sheets and let out a strangled grunt as she grabbed onto the bed to steady herself. “Are you really that bored here everyday?” she asked him, annoyance flaring up in her. “That you have to stalk me around the house like a _beggar_? What is it that you want? I have nothing for you, goblin!” she protested, outraged, and waited for a response which she already knew was silly and pointless. All he did was meow at her, and she expected nothing less. In a huff, she folded her sheets more aggressively than before. He meowed again and stood on his hind legs to rest his front paws on the side of her thigh. She paused and glanced to the ceiling and asked to be given strength before looking down at him. He meowed, and without really thinking about it she leaned down and picked him up. She held him in her arms, and he draped his paws over her shoulder and turned his head to lick her cheek. “Are you really so lonely?” she asked softly, taking a hand and scratching his back and under his ears. He purred loudly, and she sighed. “Am I really this lonely?”

When Hilda came home that evening, Zelda was sitting in the kitchen panning through a magazine. Salem was laying on the kitchen table, curled up and observing, not too far away. Hilda didn’t know what to say. She was, frankly, stunned beyond words. Hilda couldn’t count the number of times Zelda had said to her that Salem is not a pet, he’s not even a cat. He’s a goblin, a familiar, and he must be treated as such. Hilda allowed Sabrina too many mortal indulgences, according to Zelda, and treating Salem like a pet was one of them. “Hello,” Hilda said hesitantly as she set her things down.

“Good evening, sister,” Zelda responded, glancing up from her magazine and then back down. Hilda just kept staring, a bit helplessly, wondering if she should say something. “Yes, Hilda?” Zelda finally sighed, exasperated, looking up.

“Um...” she didn’t even know how to phrase her bewilderment. She finally settled on, “Why is Salem on the table?” Zelda looked at him and scoffed.

“I’ve no idea. He’s a goblin. They do as they please, I suppose,” she offered, her voice gravelly and ever so righteous. With a dignified shake of her head, she stood up and smoothed out her dress. “I’m going to change,” she announced, and Salem meowed but didn’t move when she left. Hilda stared at him in confusion when Zelda was gone.

“What have you done to her?” she asked softly before starting on dinner. Zelda had been changing her clothes everyday before dinner lately. It was a new pattern in Zelda’s already indecipherable patterns of behavior. Hilda knew them well, so she knew that this was new. She had a sinking suspicion that it was because there was cat hair all over her every evening now, and she didn’t want Sabrina to see, and she certainly didn't want Hilda knowing she was lint rolling her clothes everyday. Hilda found great amusement in the thought. Zelda, the disparager of pets and the very mortal way Sabrina bonded with Salem, had been holding him close to her chest for days on end now. Zelda was very sensitive to her own hypocrisy and perceived shortcomings, however, so Hilda didn’t mention it. But she certainly thought it.

And she nearly bursted when Zelda came back into the kitchen with a new dress and Salem hopped down from the table and stood on his hind legs to paw at her thighs. Hilda could see that when Zelda sighed and leaned down to pick him up it was without a thought to her new dress or to who was standing around her. She held him close and pet him affectionately and cracked a small smile when he leaned over and licked her nose. “You’re incorrigible,” she told him sternly but not really and then set him down.

“Zelds...” Hilda hesitated, and Zelda’s eyes immediately snapped back to reality from wherever they’d been before. Embarrassment washed over her like a tidal wave, and Hilda instantly regretted saying anything. Sometimes dealing with her sister was a delicate process, and Hilda had just shattered whatever shell she was starting to come out of. Quicker than lightening, Zelda had a mask back up, and she glanced down at her chest. There was cat hair there. Sabrina _did_ brush him but only when Zelda wasn’t around so she wouldn’t think Sabrina was treating him like a pet. So, really, he didn’t get brushed very often.

“Dammit. Where's my lint roller,” she hissed and stalked back upstairs. Though Hilda didn’t miss the blush that had spread across her cheeks. A smile slowly formed on Hilda’s face, and she hummed down at Salem.

“Good boy,” she told him, and he meowed.


End file.
